


i can never get enough time (i want more of ya)

by MoLea90



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoLea90/pseuds/MoLea90
Summary: He doesn’t really know who initiated it but he knows he certainly didn’t stop it. His memory is hazy but he remembers how soft her skin was, how she smelled of something vaguely floral, and the soft breathy moans that filled the room. She’s gone by the time he wakes up and the next time he sees her, her eyes skate over his and they don’t talk about it.
Relationships: James Maguire & Erin Quinn, James Maguire/Erin Quinn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74





	i can never get enough time (i want more of ya)

**Author's Note:**

> I am definitely not Irish so I didn't even try to write like I was, with the exception of a couple words that they use in the show. And I'm sure it seems a little OOC but I just had this story in my head and I had to write it.

_go runnin' runnin' runnin' runnin' from the truth_

_I know you want me too_

It happened the first time by accident. He and Erin were the only ones who were free to catch up so she'd made her way to his flat dramatically bemoaning some romantic failure or other as soon as she'd walked through the door. He holds up a bottle of vodka in response and motions to the couch. He's trying to be supportive but sometimes it's hard to listen to her talk about other guys. As a result he drinks more then he probably should. They drink more then half the bottle before he notices how close she is, her thigh warm against his and her breast gently pressed against his arm.

He doesn’t really know who initiated it but he knows he certainly didn’t stop it. His memory is hazy but he remembers how soft her skin was, how she smelled of something vaguely floral, and the soft breathy moans that filled the room. She’s gone by the time he wakes up and the next time he sees her, her eyes skate over his and they don’t talk about it.

But _oh,_ he wants to talk about it.

He wants to say out loud what happened, how incredible it felt to finally be with her like that, even if he doesn’t quite remember everything. But he can’t mention it to any of the girls for obvious reasons and she’s clearly not open to a discussion. He doesn’t know how the girls haven't caught on, he’s not exactly a great liar and while he’s had years of practice hiding how he feels about Erin, he’s still not as cool as he wishes. And it’s especially worse know that he has the sounds she makes on repeat in his head. He can see the difference in how she acts around him but no one else has noticed it. She takes care not to avoid him but she ensures she’s never alone with him. He tries not to let it hurt his feelings but he knows he’s not successful.

It’s not until two weeks later that it happens again. He stumbles his way to the door when her knocking wakes him up, glancing at the clock as he goes. He worries something is wrong since it's gone midnight but one look at her face and he knows what she’s here for. Her lips are on his before he can say anything and he knows he should stop it, knows this isn’t going to end well, but she’s pressed against him and her hands are in his hair and he can’t think about anything other then how she tastes. She pushes the robe off his shoulders and he almost trips over it in his eagerness to pull her into his bedroom. He’s never been very smooth and with Erin it’s even worse. He fumbles with her bra clasp, bending one of the prongs but he manages to get it off. But he doesn't have much time to enjoy the sight of her before she's pulling him onto the bed and pushing down his boxers. His brain short circuits.

It becomes a common occurrence after that. She shows up on some schedule that apparently only she knows but it’s always late and he can never make himself turn her away.

He hasn't really had a lot of lady overnight guests before. Most of the time he'd go to their place so he only has a table next to his side of the bed. He spots a small vintage nightstand one day at a second hand store and he knows he as to buy it. He picks out a lamp to match so she can read in bed if she ever wants to. If she notices it the next time she comes over, she doesn't say anything. He can feel the disappointment creep in but he ruthlessly pushes it down.

The longer they continue this, the harder it becomes to contain his feelings for her. There's so much he wants to say, words he's kept pressed firmly to the roof of his mouth for the last four years, suddenly he's struggling to keep in. He can’t stop thinking about her. He can feel the need for her itching under his skin. He imagines this is what being an addict feels like but he can't bring himself to be ashamed of it. He wants more then this, desperately wants all of her, but he can’t seem to work up the courage to tell her. He’s terrified of pushing her and he can deal with losing the sex, really he could, but he can’t deal with losing her. He loves her. He’s loved her since they were 16. He can’t imagine not having her in his life, in whatever capacity he’s allowed. If this is the way she wants him, he'll take it, even if he breaks his own heart in the process. (And it does break his heart.)

One morning, six weeks in, he manages to wake before her and he decides to make her tea. He rolls out of bed as slowly as possible and tiptoes into his kitchen. He’s so worried that she’ll wake up before he can get back that he spends half the time leaning into the hall to check she isn't trying to sneak out. But he needn’t have worried. When he returns, she’s flat on her stomach, limbs akimbo and snoring softly. She’d managed to take all the covers in the short time he’d been gone and the thought that she might’ve been cold because he was no longer there to keep her warm, sends a pleasant jolt through his body. He sets the mug gently on her nightstand and instead of waking her right away, he lets his eyes drink her in. Her hair is in a tangle and she’s drooling slightly on the pillow and he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. She always has so much energy, always moving, always thinking, it’s rare to see her completely still.

It doesn’t last. She wakes with a snort and he barely has time to pretend like he’s just setting the tea down before her eyes are focusing on his. Her eyebrows lift slightly in surprise before she gives him a small smile when she notices what he’s set down in front of her.

“I know how you can get without your morning tea,” he teases. She rolls her eyes at him but the smile doesn’t leave her face.

“Thank you.” She blows on it gently before taking a small sip, “Jesus Christ that’s hot!” she almost misses the table in her rush to put the mug down, “Did you heat this on the feckin sun!?”

She’s fanning her mouth with her hands and he tries not to laugh, truly he does, but it’s just so Erin that he can’t help it. She glares at him and moves to stand like she’s going to punch him before she remembers that she’s naked. Her face flushes and he can see her hands clench the sheet to her chest but the laughter dies in his throat when her eyes meet his. This time he knows she reaches for him first. Her movements are frenzied in an attempt to cover her embarrassment but he kisses her slowly and with one hand gently pushes her back on the bed. It’s the closest they’ve come to “making love”. He shies away from that term but it’s soft and slow and he doesn’t know what else to call it. He presses a kiss to her shoulder and mouths the words he can't say.

Something shifts after that morning.

He’s been hoping that maybe she had finally noticed what had been building between them so when she doesn’t show up for a full week, he doesn’t think too much of it. He knows sometimes she takes a while to process things and what they had been doing didn’t really fit into her long held romantic beliefs. But when she finally does come over, she’s almost rough with him. They don’t even make it to his bedroom. She pushes down his pajama pants as soon as the front door shuts and he has to grasp her hips to keep himself steady. Their movements are hurried and awkward because she doesn’t seem to want to leave the hall but he goes along with it, popping the button on her jeans and watching as she wiggles them off. He clumsily pulls her leg up to rest on his arm and pushes her back against the wall. They’re still half dressed but her hands are lightly tugging his hair so he kisses his way up her neck, swirling his tongue around her earlobe. He finishes embarrassingly quickly, his face buried in her hair. There’s silence except for their breathing and when she twitches the leg that’s still on his arm, he lets it drop carefully to the floor. She quickly pulls her knickers and trousers on and without meeting his eyes, says goodnight and leaves. He's still pulling his pajama bottoms up when the door shuts softly behind her. He doesn't know what to do now.

He slips up the next time she comes round. He hadn't expected her to return as soon as she did, but three days later she's back in his bedroom. If she notices how happy he is to see her, how desperate he is to touch her she doesn't comment on it. Her leg is hooked over his hip, his hand skimming the smooth skin of her thigh and her very capable hands are at the waistband of his boxers and he doesn’t know how it happens but instead of silently mouthing the words against the skin of her throat they come out in a breathy whisper. She freezes instantly and when his eyes snap up to meet hers, he can see the second she decides to run. He can’t even get her name out before she’s off the bed and almost frantically gathering her clothes. She’s half dressed before he can make himself move and when he does he practically launches himself off the bed.

She startles at his sudden movement and tries to dart through the bedroom door but he’s panicked now and all he can think of is what’s going to happen if she leaves so before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s pushing the door closed and planting himself in front of it.

Her breathing is shaky and he’s sure the look on his face is borderline manic but he can’t let her leave like this, “I’m sorry-I didn’t mean to-We have to talk about this, Erin.”

She’s shaking her head before he’s even finished speaking and trying to reach around him for the door handle, “No, we don’t. We don’t ever have to talk about this. It’s grand.”

He knows she can get overwhelmed, he doesn’t want to push, and god, this isn’t how he wanted to tell her but he can’t take it back and he doesn't really want to. He tries to take her hand but she jumps away from him like she’s been burned and it breaks something inside him.

“I love you,” he blurts out, “I’ve always loved you..I-I don’t know how to stop. I didn’t want to pressure you or force anything on you but you kept coming back and I thought maybe you felt something too. These past few weeks have been..” he trails off. He can't fully explain what the last few weeks have been, heaven and hell all wrapped up together. “I'm in love with you, Erin. I can't pretend anymore that I'm not. Every time I see you I just-there’s just _you_ and I can’t-.” He forces himself to take a deep breath before he continues, “I know we’re friends and I hope whatever happens we can still be friends but I can’t keep doing this if you don't feel for me the way I feel for you.”

He wants to reach for her but he doesn’t want to see her pull away again so he presses his hands flat against the door behind him. But she’s still shaking her head and her eyes are wet and when she finally responds her voice is watery too, “I can’t do this right now, James. I can’t.”

His heart stutter in his chest and suddenly he can't breathe. He slouches against the door and the moisture he's felt gathering behind his eyes finally makes an appearance. She looks like she wants to crawl out of her skin and it's physically painful to watch her be so uncomfortable around him. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want any of this, but he opens the door behind him. The silence is deafening. He’s sure it’s only seconds but it feels like hours before he hears his front door open and shut.

_so why do you?_

He spends the next few weeks in a kind of pained daze. There's a permanent ache in his chest now and he goes about each day much like the one before. He'd tried calling her once, twice, but when she didn't answer he'd stopped. He wasn't going to make her talk to him. But he missed her like a lost limb and it was difficult to imagine the rest of his life without her in it.

When he finds out she's started seeing someone, the ache takes over his whole body. He doesn't know anything about him or where they met but he wonders if it's the same guy she had complained about the first night they slept together. She hadn't even told him herself, he'd only found out when Michelle had mentioned it in passing on the phone one day. He doesn't know what he expected but the ache is suddenly joined by a sharp pain and he has to end the call.

He runs his hands over his face and eyes the bottle of whiskey he bought before the last time--he stops the thought before he can finish it and stands. He knows what he's going to be doing tonight.

It's not the smartest decision and he knows that almost immediately. He doesn't know what he's hoping to accomplish, he'd just wanted to be close to her, to be in a space that's been warmed by her presence but as soon as he gets to her building he knows it's a mistake. He stands on the sidewalk, swaying slightly on his feet, and just stares at the window he knows is hers. Her lights are off and he thinks miserably that she’s probably out with her boyfriend. He shouldn’t be here. It’s bordering on creepy and he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. With one last look, he turns around and leaves.

By the time he gets home he’s sobered up slightly and all he wants is to go to sleep. He trudges up the stairs but almost trips over the last one when he sees who’s sitting in front of his door. She stands up quickly when she sees him and they eye each other warily for a few seconds before he sighs, “What are you doing here, Erin?”

She fidgets with the buttons on her jacket and when she finally replies it's to the floor and not him, “I just wanted to talk.”

He feels a flash of anger and he responds before he can stop himself, “You've had 3 weeks to come talk to me. What happened? Your boyfriend dump you already?”

He knows he's gone too far as soon as the words leave his mouth. He watches her lower lip tremble but she stands her ground. “No, actually I broke things off.” Her face is pulled back into her neck the way she does when she knows she's in the wrong and he's annoyed. He doesn't really feel like having this conversation right now, the alcohol making his head swim and three weeks of silence have made him angry and desperately sad. But he knows she won't go away until she's said what she wants and really, aren't they in this mess in the first place because he can't say no to her? He sighs again and takes out his keys, finally making his way over to her and opening the door. He gestures with his arm, “After you.”

She sits down on the couch but he can tell she's anxious and he thinks it's fitting that they're about to have this conversation in the exact same place this started. Unlike before however, the silence is uncomfortable and while it makes him cringe inwardly, he refuses to be the one who speaks first. She wanted to talk, she can talk.

“I was a eejit, James. I made a complete mess of things. I just pure panicked..” she hesitates but when she looks at him her spine straightens, “when you told me you were in love with me.”

“Yes, I had noticed that,” he responded dryly.

She colors slightly but doesn't take her eyes off his. “That fella...he wasn't really my boyfriend. We went on one date but I talked it up to Michelle because she thought I was acting funny and I didn't want to tell her the real reason why. I've been pretending to date him this whole time so I wouldn't have to admit that we were....what we were.” He watches her play with the hem of her shirt and waits for her to continue but when she doesn't, he knows he's going to have to ask.

“And what were we exactly?”

Her hands still but she doesn't look up at him. “We were friends. I hope we're still friends,” she sniffles a little. “But I was hoping you still feel the same. ”

He’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. He tries to tamp down the hope that’s building in his chest until he’s sure he understand what she’s saying so he purposefully speaks slowly when he responds, “And why are you hoping I still feel the same way? I can’t go back to just having sex with you. It nearly killed me.”

She flushes but this time she turns her whole body to face him. “You are a ride, James, you can’t blame me.” She’s gives him a small smile so he knows she’s teasing and he can’t stop a pleased grin from spreading across his face in response. She turns serious again. “I'm sorry for how I acted, I just got scared I guess. But I was hoping you’re still in love with me because well....I'm in love with you too. ”

She’s holding herself upright and completely still, hands folded primly in her lap, looking right at him. He wants to be angry with her, can still feel the ache, the hole in his chest that opened up when she walked out on him, but he can’t be, not when she’s sitting there offering him what he's wanted since he was 16. As soon as his lips meet hers, he melts. It feels like coming home, like every good thing that’s ever happened to him. He rests his forehead against hers, syncing their breath before gently tugging her up off the couch towards his room.

He takes his time, savoring every single bit of skin as her clothes come off. They come together slowly and sometime before the sun comes up, he wakes half expecting her to be gone. When he rolls over to see her hair spread across his pillow, he can feel warmth spread through his chest. Unable to resist, he pulls her against him and presses soft kisses to the side of her neck until she wakes up. It’s lazy and sloppy and she laughs when her hair tickles his nose. The next time he wakes, she’s sprawled across his chest snoring. He threads his fingers through hers and smiles.

_go runnin' runnin' runnin' runnin' from the truth_

_But we don’t have to_

_So you don’t have to_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read and review. I really appreciate all the kudos and positive responses.


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